


don we now our gay apparel

by magnetocent



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, holiday fic, sweater fondling, this was only supposed to be a pwp, very minor halollie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetocent/pseuds/magnetocent
Summary: the league is having their annual holiday party. barry drinks some space booze and hal drinks some regular booze and some sex happens.feat. way too much interest in a sweater, and a nice holiday broment.





	don we now our gay apparel

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a fill for boostle's prompt: its the annual watchtower holiday party and barry is definitely blaming the space booze for hal looking so Handsome in his hanukkah sweater
> 
> then it grew into this, and it's in hal's pov, but rest assured barry's definitely blaming the space booze on his fascination with hal in his hanukkah sweater.
> 
> side note:  
> -i took a lot of liberties with ollie and his comic timeline in this because i needed some plot advancement and tbh i've only read his comics here and there and i am just truly muddled on all of his doings, so...i mean actual comic writers don't remember canon shit sometimes i'm not being paid for this deal with it  
> 

When will someone write a new Christmas song that doesn’t suck? There’s only about ten different ones, but a hundred different versions, and if he has to hear Feliz Navidad play _one more fucking time_ —

Hal shakes his head. He could have been at Jim’s again tonight, enjoying some low-key drinks, and time with his niece and nephew. Could be relaxing with them, watching their menorah glimmer on their credenza near the window. But he heard the word ‘party’ and couldn’t pass up getting shitfaced with Ollie and Dinah, and finally getting a chance to try that Bolovaxian ale on Barry.

Now he’s in the middle of the lamest Christmas party he’s ever been to—and that’s including the one that trucking company he worked for had. A dozen guys over fifty sitting around drinking scotch and telling depressing stories about their wives or kids. At least they knew how to drink.

He throws back another shot, not even having to shake off the strong, bitter taste anymore, and turns back to the garishly decorated Watchtower rec room. There are small groups scattered around. The unspoken cliques of the League that automatically drifted together as they arrived. Hal’s already made his rounds, catching up with anyone he cared to, and some he didn’t. Now he’s just ready to take a break from the mundane conversation and just _breathe_.

His eyes catch at the corner of the room, and he leans lazily against the makeshift bar. On an uncomfortable looking loveseat sits Barry, the eternal wallflower, holding a half empty bottle of the ale Hal had given him. He watches the crowd from his spot, chin perched on his palm, but not necessarily looking bored. In fact, judging by his half-lidded gaze, and the redness in his cheeks he looks…less than sober.

Hal grins, _mission accomplished._

At that moment, Barry turns his head to look in his direction. Hal feels his heart thump in his chest when his friend gives him a small, warm smile. His cheek rests in his hand now, and he lifts his other to give Hal a wave around the bottle in it. It’s cute as hell. Before he even realizes, Hal’s stepping away from the bar, grabbing a random full bottle of beer, and making his way to his friend.

“How’s that drink treating you?” He asks when he approaches. His only response is the slow widening of that damn cute smile. He chuckles, and drops into the free space on the seat, “That good, huh?”

“How’re you?” Barry asks as he lifts his head, avoiding the question. Hal shrugs his shoulder in a sloppy motion toward his cheek, purses his lips.

“Makin’ the best of this shit show.” He says, pointing the neck of his bottle out toward the crowd. He looks back to Barry, who’s nodding continuously, like he can’t quite control it, until it switches suddenly to a quick shake of his head.

“S not so bad.” He murmurs. Hal grins at him.

“Says the guy who’s been sitting in the corner all night.”

Barry grins back, big and glazed over, before lifting a finger from his bottle to point it at Hal.

“Well,” he says, “I always do that at parties, so by that measure: not so bad.”

Hal nods at him, pushing his lip out in an accepting pout, and tosses his arm over the seat behind Barry.

“I guess you got me there.”

He turns back to watch the party, considering. It could be worse, especially since the get together consists of most of Earth’s heroes gathered in civilian dress. Sure, they’re on a space station orbiting Earth, but that hasn’t stopped the bad guys from trying to get up and in here before. He’s surprised Bats even allowed it to happen. Dude isn’t here though, and now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t heard the guy speak a word about it. Maybe no one told him?

The thought makes him smirk, but then he realizes none of them can keep a huge party in the Watchtower a secret from Big Brother. He probably _didn’t_ approve, and now brooding on some rooftop somewhere about it. _Whatever_ —

He’s pulled from his musings when he feels Barry inch closer. The other man reaches out with his free hand to pinch the bottom hem of Hal’s sweater between his fingers. He pulls on it, and leans forward a bit.

“Get Lit.” he reads off the front, brows furrowed, “Where’d you get this?”

Hal looks down to his sweater, at the stars of David and dancing dreidels around the menorah. He pulls a fluff of lint off it, then watches as Barry’s hand trails up to do the same.

“Jim found it online.” He explains, “I like it.”

Barry nods in agreement, a tiny, secretive quirk pulling at the corner of his lip. His hand comes to rest over Hal’s stomach, a gesture that would normally cause him to pause, but right now only spreads warmth through him

“Suits you.” Barry says finally, patting at Hal’s tummy. Hal smiles, and studies him while the other man’s attention is still on his sweater. Up close he can see his slightly mussed hair and glazed eyes. Hal thinks he probably looks very similar right now, and it occurs to him that he is actually bearing witness to _drunk Barry_.

It’s not as fun as he thought it would be. He’s still quiet and thoughtful, just a bit more smiley. And a lot more physical. Hal feels the hand on his stomach rub up and down soothingly. And the other arm, bottle still in hand, snake into the space between his lower back and the couch to wrap around his waist. He in turn drop his arm around Barry’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze. There’s an almost inaudible hum of approval, then Barry’s head is knocking into his own as he leans into him.

And he _giggles_. And Hal does too. When was the last fucking time he giggled? His heart seizes in his chest as he feels hot, alcohol-sweet breath on his cheek. He brings his hand to ruffle at Barry’s hair as the other man’s laughter peters off. The hand that rubbed at his stomach trails up to his chest, tracing over the lines of the menorah before sneaking further up, and curling into the V-neck collar. They hook around the t-shirt underneath also, and rest, two warm points, against his skin. They pull down, dragging the fabric with them, caressing and too distracting.

“Hey,” Hal says, thick and low, “Don’t stretch it.”

The fingers disappear in a split second, back to rest over his stomach, “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Hal breathes, his heart slowing again, “Not deep enough, huh?”

He sees Barry grin, eyes glinting playfully as he examines the area he just fondled.

“It’s gotta at least reach your navel.” He says, winking. Hal tilts his head to look him in the eye.

“You making fun of my clothes, Sweater Vest?” he says, gesturing at Barry’s god awful, science themed Christmas sweater vest.

Barry shakes his head vigorously, “No, never.”

“People dig the chest hair, bro.” Hal argues, “I just aim to please.”

Barry hums, a humouring smirk on his lips, “Sure.”

Hal pouts, “You don’t like my clothes?”

He doesn’t get an answer right away. Those fingers curl slightly into his sweater again, and their legs brush as Barry slips a foot outward from the couch. He sees his eyes narrow in thought, and wonders how many of them are flitting through his mind right now. After a moment, they soften and he smiles. Hal wonders if he’s imagined the split-second pinch of sadness there.

“They suit you,” Barry says finally. His fingers uncurl from the fabric, and he grabs his bottle from his other hand. He looks away and takes a swig, and Hal follows suit. The easy, playful air between them has quickly dissipated, leaving nothing but an awkward silence.

Hal studies his bottle, thumbing the lip and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. In the middle of his musings, he hears his name being called out, and looks up to find Oliver making his way over. He nods at him in greeting.

“What’s up, brother?” Oliver says, nodding back. He turns to Barry, “Donut Patrol.”

Hal sighs, “Bro, c’mon.”

But Barry doesn’t seem phased, instead pursing his lips in acceptance, “I do like donuts.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shit,” he says, “Did Golden finally take the Rod out of his ass long enough to get sloshed?”

“I’m enjoying myself.” Barry replies, voice finally taking on some annoyance, “Or I _was_.”

Oliver raises the last of his drink to down it, murmuring into the glass, “Yeah, I saw that.”

“Alright,” Hal interjects, sitting up and holding his arms out to silence both men, “I’m gonna cut you two off before you even start. It’s Hanukkah. I should be at Jim’s with my family, but instead I’m here so I can celebrate the holidays with my bros. The least you two could do is be _civil_.”

The other two men meet each other’s eyes. Some of the other party goers around them turn to look, and yeah, maybe he was a bit too forceful, but _fuck_. The last thing he wants tonight is to sit through another their meaningless bickering.

“Yeah, no problem, man.” Oliver says after a moment, holding a placating hand to him, “For real. The bird and I are actually taking off. S’why I came over.”

Hal drops his hands to his lap, mood taking a nose dive at this news.

“Aw, what?” he whines, “It’s only like—”

He stops, looking to his non-existent watch before turning to Barry, who shrugs in response.

“1 A.M.?” he guesses. Hal takes it as fact, and whips his head back to Oliver.

“Dude.”

Oliver waves him off, “Don’t give me that. I’m a mayor now, I have important shit to do.”

He sets his now empty glass on a nearby table, then grabs Hal by the shoulder.

“You mind if I borrow him for a minute?” he asks Barry. The other man shrugs, and Oliver takes this as an okay, “C’mon. See us off.”

Hal reluctantly stands, letting Oliver wrap an arm around him.

“I’ll be back,” he says to Barry, getting a smile in response. Oliver turns him away, shooting a ‘Happy Holidays’ to the man still on the couch.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Barry responds, half-heartedly.

Oliver scoffs under his breath, “Tool.”

Hal rolls his eyes.  
  
  
  
  


Their trip to the Zeta tubes is silent, Oliver taking on an almost thoughtful manner. Which, if Hal is being honest, is a nice change from the regular loud and argumentative man he usually is when drunk (and _sober_ ). But it puts him on edge, the only time he’s like this is when he’s about to get sentimental, or drop some huge bomb on him. His eyes widen, _maybe Dinah is pregnant_.  
  


No wait, she was drinking along with them all night. Can’t be that.

He flits a few other ideas through his brain as they reach the tubes. _Divorce?_ No way. _Maybe he was impeached_. Nah, Hal would have heard about that all night. _A kid from another woman?_ He tilts his head in consideration. Maybe…

Oliver scans the room for anyone else as he’s thinking, which confirms that he does want to talk about something. After he’s sure they’re the only ones there, he turns back to Hal and claps his hands around both of his shoulders.

“This is your chance, brother.” He says. Hal frowns at him.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about?!” Oliver replies, a little too loud, “Ride the lightning, man!”

Hal frowns deeper, tilting his head back to get a better look at his friend as he runs the words through his head, “What?”  

“Seriously?” Oliver replies, “I thought the only person who couldn’t see it was _him_.”

It takes another few seconds before Hal _realizes_. Shit. _God, why couldn’t Dinah be pregnant?_

He pushes Oliver’s hands away.

“That’s—bro, I don’t—” he sputters, backing away. He holds his hands out, then runs one through his hair, choking out half-hearted and scattered words of protest. They’re met with a dead eyed, unimpressed stare from his friend, and he eventually gives up.

He bites his lip, thinking about what Oliver said, _this is your chance_.

“You think he...?”

Oliver nods, “Hell yeah, man.”

Hal shakes his head, stepping over to the nearby viewing window, “Nah, he’s drunk.”

He leans over, looking down to the big blue planet below, overbalancing and smacking his head against the glass, “ _I’m_ drunk.”

There’s steps behind him, the rustling of clothes as Oliver shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs.

“You don’t have to fuck him.” He says, “Just give him a kiss or whatever. Get him under some mistletoe.”

Hal considers it. It wouldn’t be a bad idea. Worse comes to worse, he blames it on the alcohol.

But then he sighs, and watches thick clouds swirl over Canada and the northern states, telling of the heavy snow they must be getting. It dredges up a memory from last week. A night he spent in Central City. It was the first big snow of the year, and he offered to help Barry clear some streets and make sure people got home safely.

After, they went back to Barry’s apartment, and his friend put on some milk for hot chocolate, and piled Hal up with blankets. Then he sped off, returning with a small blue and white wrapped gift.

 It was a coffee mug, with a silhouetted airplane, that said ‘Getting High is my Job’. Barry explained that he knew Hal didn’t always have a place he could keep it, so he could keep it there. It would be his mug, for when he stayed over. Then he blushed, and all Hal could think was how shitty it was that he didn’t get his best friend a fucking Christmas gift. And he hasn’t still. He doesn’t know what to get. How could he _not know_.

He rubs at the sore spot on his forehead, squeezes his eyes shut, “He doesn’t want me, man.”

Oliver comes to stand just behind him, arms crossed, “Guy had his hands all over you.”

“He’s just a cuddly drunk.” Hal reasons.

“With who?” Oliver counters, “With Ralph, or Sue? Ray? Dinah? He handled himself fine before he got to you.”

Hal frowns, thinking about it. It’s true, any time he saw his friend with anyone he only knew professionally, he was more than respectable. And with those he did know, the most touching he did was a hand on the shoulder, or a friendly hug. He practically molded himself to Hal’s side when they sat together.

Oliver moves to lean his back against the glass. His lips are turned down, brows furrowed as he stares at a spot on the floor.

“Hal, I fucking hate that guy.” He says, “Yet here I am telling you to go for it – to let him know how you feel. You think I’d be doing that if I wasn’t completely sure he felt the same way?”

Hal looks back out the window, lip turning up slightly, “I’m surprised you’re doing it at all.”

“Yeah, and I’m hating myself for it.” Oliver sighs. He pushes himself from the glass, turning to wrap his arm around Hal once more, “I love you, man. I just want to see you happy, and he makes you happy.”

He shakes him, then uses his free hand to squish Hal’s cheeks and make him meet his eyes.

“Go be happy.”

Then he gives him a small playful tap to the cheek, and Hal returns it by reflex, just a little harder. They both chuckle, and it turns into a drunken, clumsy play fight. Open palms landing softly against muscle, wrestle holds that were far too easy to get out of, and ending with Hal in a headlock. He pats Oliver on the stomach, and is let go. They’re both red in the cheeks, and Hal can’t help but reach out to him, place his hands gently over his shoulders, the grasp he gets on his shirt betraying the softness.

“You make me happy.” He says, open and more truthful than he wants. Oliver smiles, drunk and not really getting it, and squeezes a hand around one of Hal’s wrists.

“I’m taken.” He says, winking before his eyes dart to a point behind Hal, in the direction of the clacking heels, “Speaking of…”

“Hey, boys.” Dinah greets them, sweet and breathy. She walks towards them, steady on six inches of heels despite the amount she’s had to drink. The only tell being the more languid sway of her hips, and the lazy smile on her face.

Oliver steps around Hal, holding his arms out to her. She strides into them without hesitation, and places a long and sensual kiss on his lips. They part after a long moment, and share a lewd smile. Hal rolls his eyes, _at least someone is getting laid tonight_. He clears his throat, and Dinah finally turns her attention to him.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” She says, “Can’t help myself sometimes.”

Hal shrugs it off, but holds his arms out, “Got anything for me?”

He sees Oliver glare at him out of the corner of his eyes, but Dinah laughs, head thrown back and loud enough that Hal is kind of offended.

“No kiss,” she says, “But I will say that I love your sweater.”

Eh. He’ll take it, “Thanks.”

She shoots him a grin, bright and beautiful, and god he loves her, too. Fuck the holidays for making him so sentimental.

“You weren’t the only one.” Oliver interjects, throwing them both a wink.

Dinah winks back, “I noticed.”

The couple shares a stupid, knowing smile. Hal huffs an annoyed breath of air, arms crossing over his chest as they both reach out to poke at him. Giggling and making mocking noises.

“Are you guys leaving yet?” He asks, batting their hands away and trying to hide the smile threatening to peek through.

“Yeah, yeah.” Oliver complies. He grabs Dinah around the waist and pulls her to a Zeta tube, “Tell the family I wish them a very Happy Hanukkah.”

The over pronounced ‘h’s make Hal cringe, but he nods anyway, sharing a look with Dinah before she blows him a kiss.

“From me too!” she says.

“Will do. Have a good night, my dudes.” He replies, and gives them a wave before turning to make his way back to the party. As he’s walking, he hears the tubes energize, and Oliver shout to him before he’s gone.

“Ride the lightning!”  
  
  
  
  


He thinks about what Oliver said on his way back to the rec room. About maybe finding some mistletoe and leading Barry under it. Getting one kiss, testing the waters in a way that he can later blame on holiday cheer and alcohol. The closer he gets to the party, the more enticing the idea seems. Maybe it’s that beer he downed finally having its way with him, or maybe it’s all that time just _wondering_.

He shakes his head, stopping just down the hall from the door. _Just do it_ , his mind screams. He’s going to do it.

His steps quicken toward the door, but falter when he rounds the corner. Most of the room is either saying their goodbyes, or helping to clean up. A few guests bustle by him, wishing him happy holidays, and some stopping to give him a real goodbye. After a few minutes, he brushes past the others leaving, and stumbles into the room. The decorations are still up, there’s time.

Then his eyes stop on the couch he left only a half hour ago—Barry’s still there, head tilted back to rest on the cushion beneath, legs stretched long in front of him. The bottle beside him is empty, and his eyes are closed. The string lights behind him catch his hair in a red and blue tinged halo of light. Hal stares, and frowns. What an idiot he is, to think that he could just kiss him and that would be it. Get rejected and move on. He hasn’t moved on for three fucking years now.

There’s an almost empty bottle of vodka on a nearby table and he grabs it, taking a swig and cringing at the taste before heading over to his friend. His foot catches on the other as he nears the seat, and he stumbles into it, going with the downward movement and falling to sit beside the sleeping man next to him. Or the man he thought was sleeping.

“Hey,” Barry says, smiling when he sees it’s Hal knocking him around. Hal brings the bottle back to his lips again, drinks, and sends him his own drunken smirk.

“Hey,” he drawls, “You falling asleep on me?”

“No, just…” Barry starts, slow blinks betraying his words, “Just resting my eyes.”

Hal licks the bitter taste of alcohol off his lower lip, then claps a hand over Barry’s leg, “C’mon. I’ll walk you to your room.”  
  
  
  
  


The walk to the sleeping quarters is about ten minutes too long, and far too quiet. Only the dull sounds of the space station filling the air around their footsteps. Barry’s arm is too warm around his waist, and his breath too sweet when he hums stray sounds of Christmas carols. Hal loses himself to it far too often, leaning his cheek over to rub against blond hair more times than he can count.

He doesn’t plan on coming in when they finally reach Barry’s room, but the other man pulls him in with him, leaving him to stand awkwardly as loafers are slid off.

Barry lifts his foot to remove his socks, almost tumbling forward if his hand didn’t speed to grab the small side table in front of him. He huffs an incredulous laugh, and looks back to Hal, eyes wide and mouth parted in delighted surprise. Hal sways where he stands and shakes his head. Then he’s reaching to his friend, righting him with unsteady hands and guiding him over to the bed.

“Alright,” he says, “On the bed drunky.”

His chest bumps into Barry’s shoulders when he stops dead in front of him, “Wait.”

Then he’s reaching over his head to grab at the back of his sweater vest collar, and pulls it over his shoulders, almost smacking Hal in the face when he does it. Hal grabs it out of his hands before he can fold it, and tosses the red and green lump over onto the dresser on the opposite side of the room. When he turns back, Barry’s already has enough buttons undone on his shirt to pull it over his head as well. His hair stands up after it’s dragged over, static sparking across the short strands.

Then he’s climbing into the bed, rolling over onto his back. He grins up at Hal when he steps up beside him, and reaches to undo his belt. Hal’s heart skips about five beats. His eyes follow the line of Barry’s bare chest and abs down to where long fingers unclasp leather. He swallows hard.

“You want some help with those?” he asks, low and throaty. Barry only chuckles, pulling the belt from the loops with one hand and tossing to the floor.

“This’s good.” He says, flopping his hand back down on the sheets. He shifts a bit, moving over and leaving a big enough gap on one side for Hal to slide into, but he doesn’t.

Or he _shouldn’t_ , not after that show. His body has other ideas though, moving him to slide off his own shoes and climb in. Barry smiles and turns onto his side as Hal sinks into the narrow mattress. His arm jerks in an aborted movement to reach out, then slides up to grab the pillow out from under his head, shoving it down to hug it against his chest.

“We’re lying on the blankets.” He explains, stilted and awkward, avoiding Hal’s eyes in favour of a spot on the far wall.

Hal shrugs in response, “You’re a human space heater, we’ll be fine.”

And Barry nods. His fingers squeeze at the pillow and he purses his lips. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hal looks over. Their eyes meet, Barry’s half-lidded, teeth working over his lower lip. Hal recognizes that look, or he’s pretty sure he does—it’s hard to tell when he’s looking for it on Barry Allen. His body recognizes it, reacting in the way it always does, blood flowing down to warm his lower half. He wants to react with it. He needs to—

He needs—

 _Just lean over and_ —

His ring flares to life as he mentally kicks himself for being such a pussy. Green arches over him to form an object above their heads. Barry’s eyes dart over, squinting at the bright light before he recognizes the shape of mistletoe and they widen.

He looks shocked, and a bit confused, and when his eyes flit back to Hal’s, the construct wavers. They stare at each other for what seems like forever, Hal’s famous willpower fading with every second along with the light from his ring.

God, he’s so _stupid_. Barry’s not—he would never—

Hal looks away, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating how to get out of this mess without damaging their friendship. His best bet would be to laugh it off, make it a joke and leave. It would be easy. They’re both drunk, Barry will probably only vaguely remember what happened because he didn’t actually _kiss him_ —oh. Wait.

Lips press into his gently, and he’d wonder how Barry could move in front of him and do that without him even noticing, but this is a speedster he’s talking about and _holy shit Hal he’s kissing you pay attention_.

The lips are gone as fast as they appeared. He got his kiss. Barry’s holding himself above him, gazing down uncertainly, lips parted and wet and _inviting_. Hal is already forgetting how they felt against his own. Well, fuck that. If he’s finally kissing Barry, he going to remember it.

He surges forward, shoving their mouths together again. And Barry doesn’t push him away. Rather, his hand comes to cup around Hal’s jaw, urging him closer. Any tension Hal was feeling eases from him as he arches into the kiss, reaching to grab at Barry’s waist and ribs. His hands land on bare skin, feeling at the ridges of muscle, and the goosebumps that have raised. His fingers tingle where they’ve landed, as do his nose and lips where they touch Barry’s, and he sighs. His mouth parts with the sound, and a tongue snakes out just to taste. It’s met only milliseconds later by another, the tips touching minutely, hesitantly, before Hal’s boldly slides its way beyond lips and teeth. The hand at his jaw drifts down, trails across his neck before it clutches at the collar of his sweater.

They kiss like this for seconds, minutes, not long enough before parting. Hal opens his eyes enough to gaze into the darkened blue of his friend’s, and they’re kissing again, way more intensely than the first time. It’s drunk-sloppy, uncoordinated with too much saliva, but Hal doesn’t really care. He pushes into it more, hand coming to guide Barry back onto the mattress. Arms wrap around him almost immediately, hugging him close so that their chests press together.

Hal is full of conflicting ideas and feelings. He never wants to move, doesn’t want to stray even a moment from Barry’s lips or tongue, but yearns to move past them. Trail open-mouthed kisses over his cheek and neck and collar bone. He doesn’t want to push this too far, but he doesn’t want to stop either.

Making out a bit seems like the right place to take it. Yeah, things might be awkward tomorrow, but it’s just kissing. Only mouths touching, hands touching skin _above the belt_. Dicks have been kept a safe distance apart. He himself has a boner, but he has absolutely no idea if Barry does. He doesn’t need to know. The sounds and gasps say he’s enjoying himself. There’s no reason for him to have to move his hand down, slide it over tensing abs, over the V of Barry’s hips. A dusting of dark blond hair tickles his fingers.

There’s no harm in checking if Barry’s _really_ enjoying himself. Just for a second, he just wants to _know_.

Barry gasps into their kiss once Hal’s hand makes contact. His hips undulate into the hold, and he’s rock hard, straining against the khaki material of his pants. Hal squeezes gently, palm massaging, and Barry’s head falls back. His eyes flutter closed and he moans softly.

“Fuck,” Hal breathes, moving to mouth at the newly exposed skin of Barry’s neck. He keeps a slow, pressing rhythm, and basks in the noises it produces. Feels them reverberate under his mouth. He tries to curl his fingers to roll them into Barry’s balls, but the fabric won’t give enough to reach them. There’s a moment of pause as he makes a split-second decision to undo the button and zipper, and sneak his hand inside over the cotton boxers. He wraps it around the length, feeling the heat and the slight twitch it gives at the touch.

Barry chokes out a louder sound. His arms squeeze around Hal, fingers digging into his sweater before one hand moves to pull him from his neck and into another kiss. His other hand trails downward, lifting at the hem of his sweater before nudging its way under his jeans. It gets stuck about halfway in, under Hal’s belt, and they both chuckle at Barry’s struggle to free them.

Hal stops laughing when they’re finally free and grabbing hard at his ass. One or two are low and in enough that he can feel them press just shy of his hole, and he can’t help the loud moan and jerk of his hips. His eyes open enough to see the glimmer of surprise and arousal in Barry’s face as he does it again. He buries his nose under his jaw, pressing his ass back into the hold.

Pulling his hand from Barry’s pants, he reaches to undo his own, need taking over common sense. The hand still cupping his cheek, along with the other on his ass, move to help him shove the material down. They quickly do the same to Barry’s, and Hal tilts his head to look. His cock is fucking gorgeous, and feels even better skin to skin. Barry’s hand moves back to his ass, kneading at the flesh, fingers teasing at his crack, and he can’t help but imagine what it would be like—Barry’s cock sliding into him. How he would fuck him. Fast and hard, just on the cusp of using his speed, like Hal craves. Or slow, _loving_. The way Hal won’t admit he wants.

He tilts his head back up to look Barry in the eyes, and imagines it. Moves his hand in a slow drag over Barry’s skin, presses his ass into the still caressing touch. Barry noses at him, places tiny kisses at his lips as his hips move with the rhythm of Hal’s hand. They brush against Hal’s newly exposed dick, and he shifts his leg to bring his own hips closer. He thrusts into the dip of Barry’s hip where it meets his waist, and back into the exploring fingers, feels Barry’s own motions and imagines them _together_. Fucking, instead of drunken fumbling.

He chokes a gasp when Barry’s hesitant fingers probe a bit deeper, just touching his hole. His hips quicken, as does his hand over Barry’s dick. They breath into each other’s mouths, on the cusp of kissing, but not quite. Those fingers brush his hole again, and Barry’s eyebrows pinch as he tries to keep his eyes focused on Hal’s own. His free hand clutches at Hal’s waist and ribs, and he chokes a moan. Hal watches his eyes close and feels the warm come spill over his fingers. He stops his movements, taking in the aftermath of Barry’s orgasm, how he relaxes and breaths out contentedly.

Then his eyes open again, half-lidded and sleepy, and a smirk quirks the corner of his lips. Hal grins back, places his messy hand over Barry’s chest, and clutches it when the dirty bastard vibrates his fingers. He chokes a sound, hips jolting, and Barry presses them a bit harder. Just enough that Hal can imagine how good they would feel inside him. He buries his face back into Barry’s neck, and the other man reaches to jerk him off as the rolling vibration teases him. He comes in seconds, moaning loud and shooting over Barry’s hip, getting some on the blankets and his sweater.

Then they breathe. Hal calms himself, hidden in Barry’s neck. Barry noses at his hair and sighs, moving the hand on his ass up to push at his lower back, bringing him closer. After a few seconds of basking, Hal sits up, and takes off his sweater. He wipes at the mess with it, despite Barry’s quiet protests, and tosses over the side of the bed. He’ll deal with it later.

“Your brother got you that,” Barry scolds, the harshness of it tempered by his sleepiness. Hal chuckles, doing his jeans back up before he lies down beside his friend. He needs to go, but it can wait until Barry falls asleep. It won’t take long; the other man is already halfway there. He rests his head on his arm, and Barry smiles at him. He lifts his arm to cup his hand under Hal’s jaw, thumb brushing over his chin. Hal in turn slides his fingers through Barry’s hair, over and over, and watches as blue eyes finally drift shut.

He needs to go, but it can wait another few minutes. It’s probably good to make sure Barry’s actually asleep, plus he’s a bit dizzy from the alcohol and orgasm. A few more minutes, then he’ll go. Just don’t fall asleep.  
  
  
  
  


He fell asleep.

Now he’s waking up with a killer hangover, blinking his eyes open to see bleary, blue ones staring right back at him. They widen, eyebrows raising as Barry realizes he’s awake now. His hand darts away from where it was under Hal’s arm.

Hal lifts himself to rest on his elbow, rubbing over his forehead and hair in an attempt to dissipate the worsening headache. He feels like he’s about to puke, and his shoulder is sore from sleeping on it all night. He’s too fucked up to deal with this right now, the aftermath and inevitable rejection. There’s a slim chance Barry might not remember it just yet, and he can put it off for another few days—or months. He’s not sure if he’s hoping for that or not.

Barry shifts beside him, and when he glances over, he sees his eyes darting from place to place, thinking. He sees Hal looking at him and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He clears his throat, bringing a hand to rub over his eye.

“I—” he starts, then bites at his lip before continuing, “I feel disgusting.”

Okay, then they’re both avoiding the issue. Hal nods in response.

“Yeah, me too.”

Barry nods back, awkwardly. He avoids Hal’s eyes as much as possible, only meeting them in quick glances occasionally. His shoulders are tense, and Hal really hates himself for not leaving last night. His heart is beating in slow and hard thumps, and he has to swallow around the lump in his throat. Barry clears his throat and sits up, and Hal’s eyes drop to the sheets. He’s going to kick Ollie’s ass for convincing him this was a good idea.

Okay, he said just to kiss him, but _still_. Hal’s going to have some emotions to deal with, and having someone to beat up will help.

His eyes follow Barry as he gets out of the bed, slow and a bit clumsy. He moves his legs to let him out so they don’t have to touch. When Barry gets his footing, he stands awkwardly at the edge, rubbing at the back of his neck before pointing his thumb toward the en-suite.

“Gonna run a bath.” He says.

Hal nods before the sentence registers, then he frowns, “You have a bathtub in here?”

“You don’t have one?” Barry replies. Hal shakes his head, and Barry shrugs, moving at a human pace through the door, “I thought everyone had one.”

Hal grumbles under his breath, sitting up fully and rubbing, frustrated, at his face, “Fuckin’ Spooky.”

After a few seconds, he hears the water running, a deep, loud noise. He looks at his sweater, still rumpled on the floor and covered in jizz, and gets up. In the moment after he grabs it, he pauses, looking back to the bathroom door, then to the exit. His head and heart hurt. He needs to go throw up. He needs to give Barry some time to process, and himself time to—to let go.

He takes only a step, Barry’s voice stopping him in his tracks.

“You’re leaving.”

It’s not a statement, but not really a question either. It’s resigned, and final.

Hal looks back at him, unprepared, “Uh.”

“I thought we—” Barry cuts himself off, face flushing a deep red. He shakes his head, and crosses his arms over his chest. Hal didn’t miss the ‘we’ in that sentence, and is sober enough to see the disappointment in the way his eyes drop to the floor.

Maybe—maybe Hal misread.

“That tub can fit two people?” he asks, testing. Barry meets his eyes, mouth parting in surprise.

“Uh,” he stutters, swallowing hard before he continues, “Only one way to find out.”

Hal smiles, and Barry’s face softens into one as well. The sweater is dropped to the floor as Hal stalks over. He stops only inches from Barry, but the other man quickly closes the distance. They kiss, soft and close mouthed. Hal’s stomach flips, and when they pull apart, he tries to smile around a cringe.

“I feel like shit,” he says, and Barry nods sympathetically, leaning into him. Hal revels in the fact that he’s allowed to wrap his arms around him, rub their cheeks together and nose at his hair.

“Me too,” Barry agrees, caressing under Hal’s shirt, along the line of his spine, “Let’s clean up, then we can go back to sleep.”

Hal hums in agreement.

“Then we can talk about this,” Barry adds.

Hal scrunches his nose, then leans back to look at Barry in the face.

“How about we just make out a bit, wash my sweater, and then you come with me to Jim’s tonight.” He suggests, “Is that enough?”

Barry searches him, lips pursed, considering, “My place after?”

Hal agrees.

“Okay,” Barry says, “For now.”

Then Hal’s guiding him back toward the almost full tub that they’ll definitely have to finagle themselves into, kissing him and tugging at his pants.

Barry hums happily, and mumbles against his lips, “Best Christmas gift ever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u guys enjoy this gift i have bestowed to u. let me know if there's any mistakes. 
> 
> hal's sweater: https://www.rageon.com/products/get-lit-hanukkah-crewneck-sweatshirt


End file.
